


Terminate and Stay Resident

by Arcanista



Series: Holding Pattern [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Departure from Genocide Route, Gen, Genocide Route, Intrusive Thoughts, Mental Health Issues, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense, Recovery, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcanista/pseuds/Arcanista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The heroine appears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _And so you'll finally see, you're just a casualty_   
>  _Now you're coming around, yeah you're coming around and you found_   
>  _That it's murder_   
>  _Now you're slipping away more every day and they say_   
>  _That it's murder_

The wind howls in through the front door, and Undyne stalks inside, armour rattling around her. "Papyrus!"

Sans stays calm, but sticks his hand in his pocket. He pulls out his phone and checks it: set to silent, five missed calls. "Sorry," he mumbles. This one's on him. He could have gotten the kid out of here, or something, if he'd maybe just picked up the phone. Too late now, anyway. He strolls around to stand in front of the table, leaning against it, one hand dangling near the kid's face, just in case they need something to grab onto. But that's about all he can do right now, isn't it? If anyone's gonna be able to talk down Undyne in a full rage, it's gonna be Papyrus, not him. Sans looks up at his brother, watches him square his shoulders and stride forward to meet his boss.

"Undyne!" says Papyrus. "What a great surprise! I wasn't expecting to see you here at all! Can I get you anything!"

Undyne jabs the tip of her spear in Papyrus' direction, stopping well short of actually hitting him. "What you can get is that human! The one under your table! The one you've been hiding for-- oh my god, how long have you even been hiding this human! Was it the whole time? It's been almost six weeks! How _could_ you, Papyrus!"

A tiny whimper emerges from under the table. Probably only Sans can hear it, and that just because he's standing so close. He'd look, but he doesn't dare take his attention off of Undyne. He's sure Papyrus has got this, but that doesn't mean Sans shouldn't have his back.

"Because!" says Papyrus, punching one fist into his palm. "Because I'm helping them! To be a better person! When the human listened to me for the first time... I could tell! I could tell that even though they're a weirdo, there's really a good person inside them! So I offered to help them figure out how to do it! It's been a real work in progress, but we're making great steps! And I didn't want to tell you until they'd passed the final exam! So you could be _really_ impressed and make friends!"

Undyne's one good eye twitches violently. "That's... that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" She waves her spear through the air, a high-pitched whine tracing its arc. "That human _murdered_ everyone that crossed their path up until now! Doggo... Dogamy... Dogaressa... Lesser Dog, he just wanted affection from _everybody_! Greater Dog just wanted to play all the time! They destroyed the entire Snowdin Canine Unit! They were my troops! They were my _friends_! I thought they were yours, too! I don't know what they were to you anymore!"

Papyrus comes up short at that, but only for a few seconds. "That's... that's why I had to give the human a chance, Undyne! Don't you see! If I didn't reach out to give them the chance to be a better person... they'd have kept being a bad one! They could have kept hurting people! They just sit and look at walls and play cards with me now! It's great! They're not hurting anyone at all now!"

The spear darts close enough to Papyrus' shoulder that Sans has to stop himself from stepping forward. Undyne's eye blazes now. "I take it back! _That's_ the stupidest thing I've ever heard! You're playing _cards_ with this, this villain? Do you know who used to play cards? Do you know who'll never play cards again? Do you? Because I don't think you do! I think if that meant anything at all to you, you'd hand over that human to me right now!"

Now Papyrus starts to quaver, looking back and forth between Undyne, Sans, and the kid, sweat beading up on his skull. Sans does glance under the table now, and sees the kid gripping their legs, shaking so hard they look near to vibrating.

"Hey," says Sans, keeping it chill. He pushes away from the table, hands firmly ensconced in pockets. "You're a houseguest. And so's the kid. So, uh, I know there's stuff to hash out. But guests shouldn't fight in the house, yeah?"

"And _you_!" Undyne whirls on Sans. "You're not any better! You're supposed to be on the lookout for humans! And you never said anything, either! Why am I the only one who cares about everyone who got killed! You've got a murderer _right there_ and you've been... you've been... are those _cookies_?"

If only Sans didn't care. Things would be a lot easier that way, in entirely too many ways. He makes himself shrug. "Yeah," he says. "Want one?"

Undyne gnashes her teeth together. "No! No! I don't want one of your... murder cookies! That probably have murder germs all over them! Yeah, that's right! Murder germs! And don't think you can distract me! You can't just be on the lookout for humans and not only do nothing while one murders _nearly the entire royal guard_ but also bring them home and eat cookies! That's, like, beyond just being lazy at your job! It's the worst possible job you could be doing! You're _fired_ , Sans!"

"Okay."

"What! No, Sans, that's not okay!" Papyrus waggles his hand in the air, spinning on his heels between Sans and Undyne. "Undyne! You can't fire Sans! It's, um, against union policy! You need to consult with them first!"

"Sentry isn't a unionized position!" Undyne grips her spear tightly between her hands, looking just a hairline away from snapping it in two. "Oh my god, I've figured it out. It's mind control! The human is mind controlling the both of you! Don't worry, guys, I'll save you!"

Papyrus jumps up and down, running in between Undyne and Sans. "No! It's not mind control, Undyne, please! It's just... just that everyone can be a really great person if they try! And I'm helping the human try! And they're trying really hard!"

From behind Sans comes a scraping sound, table-leg against tile. "She's right, you know." The child's voice is smooth as milk, sweet as arsenic. "Not about the mind control part. Or is she?" Sans turns exactly halfway, to watch the kid pull out from under the table and stand up straight. Their lips are contorted into a smile, one that quakes at the corners. They giggle, the exact same sound as when Sans dunked the cookie not ten minutes ago. "I killed them. I killed them all. It wasn't even self-defense. Not after the first few. And I'll do it again, if you let me."

Papyrus gasps, fully turning his back on Undyne. "Human!" he says. "You're talking! You're talking really well! That's some amazing progress since you hardly ever do! But, um, what you're saying is really creepy! It's not on the lesson plan! Try saying something like 'Hello Undyne! I am a friendly human, who just wants to make friends with you and not hurt people!' instead!"

The thing that's definitely not the kid anymore steps around Sans, around Papyrus, shambling purposefully into the living room, facing Undyne directly. They look up at her, meets her eye, standing straight as a pinned butterfly. "You should kill me while you have the chance."

Undyne doesn't even hesitate, doesn't give a second for either of Papyrus or Sans to open their mouths. She raises her spear and she casts it right at the thing, the air whistling around it.

Her aim is true, and the spear would be enough to take down the smiling child, but at the last possible instant, they jerk to the side as if pulled. The spear grazes their arm, splitting the striped sleeve, crimson blossoming in its wake. If they feel any pain at all, they don't acknowledge it, but they lift their right hand to dab their fingers against the wound. Their eyebrows furrow as they look at the blood. "So that's how it's going to be?" they say quietly, as if to themself. "Fine by me."

"Let's go outside," they say, bending to pick up the spear from the ground. Their fingers twitch and jerk over the spear-haft as if trying to move in two different directions entirely. "It's rude to fight indoors, isn't it? It seems this is going to be a fight after all. And I left something of mine out there, when all this started." They drop the spear at Undyne's feet, go to put their shoes on, and walk slowly out the door.

* * *

Doesn't know what to do! Doesn't want to fight. Does, sort of. Doesn't want to die. Does, actually, but can't. Not right now. Has to fight so hard to move. Has to fight to _stop_ moving. Can't stop moving. Can sort of wriggle toes but can't stop walking. Barely stopped getting hit. Doesn't want to get hit again. Arm hurts. Head hurts.

You can always give in. Kill or be killed, right? Either's fine.

Snow crunches beneath feet. Won't do it. Won't do it. Palms itch. Both sound good. Won't. Why not? Catches lower lip between teeth, bites. Tries to think of a reason why not.

Stops, leaves the path. Still moving without thinking about it. Head bends forward, starts looking for something. Tries to shut eyes, does blur them, does lose focus. Annoyed. Still keeps looking. Sound of running nearby. Bends down, picks up glove from snow. Still caked in dust. Shivers all over. Annoyed at that, too. Pathetic.

You can't think of a good reason to resist because there isn't one. Shoves hand into glove. Fingers bend wrong way, has to move them with other hand. Glove filled with snow. Cold, melting on skin. Teeth chatter. Has to feel all the things. Isn't fair. If you just gave up a little bit more, I would be pleased to take on the pain.

Straightens, turns. Only two of them. Both tall. One all metal, one all bones. No short one. Where...? Must be disappointing already. Must not want to see. Shoulders droop. Probably better that way.

"Hey. Get back here, you murderer! Face the spear of ultimate _justice!_ " Armored one bangs spear against ground. Snow flies everywhere.

Feet move to middle of path. Feels sick. Murderer? No, no, no, no. Isn't. Can't be. Didn't. Someone _else_ did that. Liar. Lips move, voice works. "Come on. You go first."

Armored one angry enough to do it. Raises spear, throws it into the air. So many come flying down, come flying so close. Body stays anchored in place, can't move, can't move, feels tears building in eyes, tries to-- finally launches to the side, out of the way. Gets up, spears vanish. Magic spears? No, don't get distracted. I'll make you one final deal. Fight back, and I'll let you try to evade her on your own. No interference.

Is crying now, silently. Runs at her, trips over own feet, not even close, falls face-first into the snow. Arm throbs getting up. We'll call that a start. You'd think you'd be better at this. You are a murderer, after all. Just out of practice?

"I believe in you, human! Just... just do like we talked about! And give her a big hug!"

Spears launch into the air again. "I don't accept hugs from murderers!" Is easier to get out of the way now. Sees them coming. Can run out of the way. Still _clumsy_ , just regular clumsy. "If P̶̷̸̲̅a̶̷̸̲̅p̶̷̸̲̅y̶̷̸̲̅r̶̷̸̲̅u̶̷̸̲̅s̶̷̸̲̅ was really right about you... if you really are sorry..."

Hand shakes inside of glove, cold and scared. At first, I was so confused. Takes heavy breath, tries to swing at her, doesn't even come close. I barely remembered anything. But because of you, it all started coming back. Tries to run back, get away from the spear before it flies.

"Then there's only one way you can redeem yourself!" Hand raises high. Too scared to be more scared. "With just one more human soul, King A̶̷̸̲̅s̶̷̸̲̅g̶̷̸̲̅o̶̷̸̲̅r̶̷̸̲̅e̶̷̸̲̅ can break the barrier, and set all monsters free forever!" Stands frozen in place. Jaw drops a little. Listens real hard. Spears twirl in the air, sparkling brightly. "If you really want to make up for what you did, then you'll die here and let me take your soul to him!"

Shuts eyes. Do you think it's that easy? Even if there were such a thing as redemption... Hands tremble, but only a bit. Could let the spears hit right now. But can't die here. Can't die now, not with _it_ there. Dives aside, feels spears whistle past. No? Too bad. The ruins were all you, you know. Gets up. Shirt sticks to bleeding arm. Stings, but not as bad now. I didn't know what was happening, until I realized we speak the same language. It's the only one you do speak clearly, isn't it? I've heard your cute little tries at words. Go and hit her, or the next spear _will_ land.

Shaking all over. Can't even hear anything anyone says now. Barely sees her. Stumbles forward. Lifts hand, swats it outward. Batted aside into snow by spear. Talking, loud, over head. Gets back up. Can't hear it, can't understand it. Tries to hit her again, puts back into it. Feels familiar. Feels sick. Glove hits armour, then gets tossed back again by spear.

Do you remember _her_? Doesn't need its help to remember. Pie-smell that tickles nose and soft lap and waiting, waiting, waiting for her to get mad. Fingers in hair, rubbing, remembers an old, old memory, of-- gone, replaced by smell of motor oil and burnt rubber. But all a trick in the end, a trick, locked away forever. So confused, so angry, so lonely, didn't mean to, didn't want to, _had_ to! Cried so hard and wished so hard to _not have done that_ and suddenly hadn't. But then...

Sound of arguing. Wavers standing. Wants to fall. Can't fall. Won't die. Won't lose. You think you are above consequences. You woke me. When you screamed out in the dark, you called my name. Isn't that nice? Somebody finally came. We're friends, you and I. You haven't been a very good one. But you can still do your part. You still have something I want.

Spears come raining down again. Harder to move, not fighting, just sluggish, exhausted, dragged down. Leg gets clipped, deeper than arm. Sobs out loud. Won't do it. Can _stop_ being disappointing. Doing _good_. Clear memory, holds onto it like treasure, had to work so hard to remember it exact. Won't let it steal this one. Come now. You're exhausted. And you're in pain. Physically, mentally... you don't have to be. I can take that away from you. Why are you fighting me? You have nothing to leave behind. The tall one... he can say what he wants about being a better person, but he hasn't tried to actually _stop_ her, has he? And the short one... he's not even _here_. If you were doing that well, why didn't he even show up? He doesn't trust you. You know he never has. There's nothing holding you here.

Wobbles in the air. Rests hand on powdery glove. Tries to look up, tries to see. Everything all just blurred from tears. So tired. When you fell, you prayed for death, and death came. I'll forgive you your cold feet if you satisfy the bargain here and now. Come to me, I who came when you called, and I will make things better. Either option will do.

Just kill, or be killed.

* * *

Sans doesn't run, ever. He doesn't even power walk. But when he walks out the front door of the house and into the local grocery store, he's working the shortcuts awfully fine. He's got one hunch, period, for something that might get through to the kid. And it's a long shot. It's a long, long shot.

Part of him's not sure why he's bothering. Could just let things run their course, let them all go to reset. But _something_ here seems really invested in preventing that inevitability, and his curiosity's up. So he thinks of footprints in the dust, of a word the kid mustered over a bed of dying flowers.

The original pie's probably still there, of course, covered in dust, but it feels wrong to take it. So instead he pushes up to the counter. "Hey, uh, I need a few things," he says to the shopkeeper. She's still a bit jumpy, after everything that happened, but she was one of the first to come back, saying that people would need to be able to buy necessities if they wanted to come home.

"Of course, Sans," she says. "Your turn to buy groceries this week? I thought it was your brother's?"

Sans lifts on his toes, browsing through the racks. Two packages of pudding-- the instant stuff, that just takes milk, which they've got plenty of. "Nah, uh, special occasion. Surprise guest. Feel like it's kinda important to do something nice for this one. You got cinnamon at all?"

"Try the spice racks. Make sure it's not behind anything. I think we might only have one or two packages left."

Sans flips through the small plastic bags of pre-ground spices, lingers over the pepper but passes it by. Now's not exactly the time to figure out if it really does make people sneeze. There, behind a packet of marjoram, he sees the telltale shade of ground cinnamon. He frees the bag from its cage of bad filing and moves on to the freezers, pausing only for a second to grab an extra bag of chips and a bottle of mustard. He pulls a frozen pie crust out and flips the box over, looking at the instructions. "Bake fifteen minutes at three twenty-five? Uh, you don't have any _instant_ pie crusts, do you?"

The shop-bunny giggles. "Oh, you're really in a hurry, aren't you? I've never seen you this rushed. But that's about as fast as it gets. It must be someone special."

"Yeah, I guess." _Is_ he in a rush? He guesses he is. Huh. What a weird feeling. He grabs a can of whipped cream as an afterthought and takes it all up front. Think, think, there must be a faster way to bake a mostly-baked pie crust. "Sorry I can't stay to chat. How much do I owe you?"

She names the figure and Sans doesn't even bother quibbling about tabs, just plunges his left hand into his pocket and comes up with a wrinkled fistful of bills and exact change. Okay, there's fire. Fire is faster than ovens, right? This is a terrible idea. Can't just be any old fire though, or else it'll burn. He takes the bag of stuff and walks out the store.

Sans walks into Grillby's, a few feet already inside the bar. Sloppy. But if he wastes his time this timeline will probably snap loose into the ether, anyway, so what's the point in neatness? He beelines for the bar. "Hey, Grillby, I need a huge favour. No questions asked."

Grillby crackles at Sans, then finishes washing a glass. He waves for Sans to continue.

"This is gonna sound like a joke, but for once it's not," he says, and pulls out the boxed pie crust. Sans tears open the cardboard and pulls out the top crust. "Could you, uh, bake this? The box says fifteen minutes, but I bet with _fire_ , we could get that down to one."

An indignant crackle of flame. Grillby picks up another glass and starts cleaning.

"No, honest," says Sans. "Look, uh, please? I'll pay down some of my tab, even." He pushes the pie crust across the bar.

Grillby releases a whoosh of hot air that can only be a sigh. He picks up the pie crust, while Sans starts rummaging through his pockets. He's got to have left more money accessible, right? He doesn't even count the fistful of cash he comes up with and drops onto the bar, single-G coins rolling free. Grillby pinches the tin and crust and passes it over the open flames above his head, circling it through three times. The crust bubbles up some as it browns, and some of the edges of the crust burn a bit, but Sans figures he can deal with that. He needs symbolic, not good.

Sans picks up the pie tin when Grillby finishes with it, sliding it on top of the still-frozen one, and slides it back into the box. "Thanks, buddy," he says. "You're a lifesaver. Seriously."

How long has it been? Too long already, probably. Better step up the pace. He doesn't say anything about his impending exit, because if you mention weird things that happen, people just notice them more when otherwise they'd think they're mistaken. So he just goes, putting his foot down in Grillby's, and lifting it in his own kitchen. He dumps the grocery bag out on the counter and digs around for a mixing bowl of some sort. Fortunately, they've got one, and a whisk from his last, more leisurely attempt at baking, back before all this started. He does his best to avoid distracting himself by thinking too much about that.

He tears open the white paper packages of pudding mix and dumps them into the bowl, followed by a quick shake of cinnamon, careful not to just dump it in. The milk, he adds entirely by feel and starts mixing before he's even finished pouring. He mixes that pudding, mixes it as hard as he can. Two minutes, already two more than he has, and he's just going to have to cut the time for it to set short, too. Maybe a dip in some snow on the way out will help.

The pudding starts to thicken after a while, and he gives it a quick taste. Not the same at all, but it's similar enough for something done on no notice whatsoever. He dumps it all into the cooked pie crust and taps it against the counter to smoothe it out. Lifts the can of whipped cream and sprays it haphazardly over the top to hide the bits where the pudding's still lumpy. And some part of him that still remembers fancy things leads him to dip his fingers into the cinnamon and pull out a pinch, dusting it over top of the whipped cream.

A quick spray of whipped cream into his mouth, a dip into the drawer for a pie lifter (he doesn't know when they bought a pie lifter; it seems to him it's one of those things that mysteriously appear in kitchens one day). He goes into the cupboard for a handful of paper plates he shoves under his arm.

This time he walks normally out the door, not being entirely certain how far up the path they've gotten. He stops just out front, to rest the pie tin in the snow for a few seconds, twisting it around, hoping to set the stuff more quickly. Probably wouldn't help to have the pie just glob apart as soon as he tries to cut it. _Y'know, assuming this ridiculous idea works at all in the first place._

Papyrus rushes toward him the minute he sees him coming. "Sans! Sans! Where were you! Is that a quiche? Where did you get a quiche at a time like this, and what's that stuff on top? Why did you go get a quiche!" Around Papyrus, Sans can see the glittering of spears, the kid blocked from sight.

"It's a pie," says Sans. "Everyone likes pie, right? Figure you could, I dunno, tackle Undyne maybe, while I go and grab the kid, and we can have a nice quiet sit-down over some pie. Or something. I didn't have a lot of time to think this through, okay."

"You're right!" Papyrus says, glaring down at Sans. "This doesn't sound like a very good plan at all! But, um, Sans. The human is acting extra weird! Not weird like before, but they're sort of acting like they're trying to fight Undyne? I don't know! It's weird! They run up to her and sort of stop and she pushes them away! What good is a pie going to do!"

All Sans can do is shrug. "Heard the kid mention pie once. They don't talk much, so I figured it might be important. Might snap them out of it, bring them back to regular weird."

"This is a terrible plan!" Papyrus shakes Sans by the shoulders a couple times. "But worry not, little brother! I've already come up with a better plan! I, the great Papyrus will get in Undyne's way! And you will take that weird quiche over to the human! And then we will all go home and sit down and make friends!"

"Got it," says Sans. "Let's do this."

* * *

Getting harder to get out of the way of spears. Getting harder to see the point. Keeps getting hit, just barely, feels blood trickling out onto snow. Breath feels a little funny. Quiet, no more arguments, inside or out. Not sure why shouting stopped. Knows why _it_ stopped talking. Patience. Waiting.

Can't even really see right now, everything dark and fuzzy. Not sure if that's keeping it from seeing, or the other way around. Everything so tangled. Still somehow manages to get mostly away.

Shouting starts again, loud, clear. "Wait, what are you-- ngaaah!"

Doesn't know what happened. Wobbles, still standing. Hears footsteps, slow, steady. A threat? Doesn't know. Wants to believe it isn't. Kind of sure it is. Tries to see, pours everything into seeing. Short and blue and holding something.

"Hey, kiddo." Steps closer, easy to see. Sniffs air, smells something familiar. "How's about you take that glove off and we all go home? Look, I even made a pie. You know I don't cook normally, so, uh, hope there's someone in there who likes pie. Who isn't good at telling what good pie tastes like."

Smells familiar. Lip shakes. Silent inside. No, not quite. Pouting? Carefully turns head, looks down at glove. Can't feel fingers very much at all. Face wet, crying, can't stop.

Pulls on glove, tugs hard, hard to move fingers, has to go slowly. What are you doing? Doesn't answer. Just tries to get glove off, starts wriggling it free. How curious. Pulls and tugs and wriggles and inches glove away. He's not helping you. Doesn't it seem like he should?

Sniffs air. Cinnamon tickles nose. Takes bigger breath. _Is_ helping. Has to choose. Has to decide to not be bad. Has to keep deciding. Fingers freed. Just needs to pull glove now. You must have misunderstood. Since when... no. I know where I'm not wanted. It would be rude to remain a houseguest under such circumstances, would it not? Glove comes off, holds it in both hands. But remember two things.

Stares down at glove for a long time, holds it with good fingers, loose with puffy red ones. One: My protection should not be taken for granted. Your pain remains your own. Holds glove in good hand, leans back. Two: we still made a bargain, and you still owe me your end of it. Throws glove hard off path, can't get it to river, wishes it would land there.

Be seeing you.

Tears come hard and fast, and it hurts to breathe, and their fingers are burning, and they're bleeding and sniffling, but they stay standing. They nod. They're still not good with words, but they manage, "H-home."


	2. Supplemental

**Recipe for Emergency Pie**

**Ingredients**

1 Frozen Pie Crust

2 Packages Instant Pudding Mix (Butterscotch)

2 tsp Cinnamon

4 cups Milk

1 can Whipped Cream (real)

**Method**

1\. Cook pie crust over a bartender's open flame of a head. Failing that, prepare to package instructions. (usually roughly 15 minutes @ 325F). Allow pie crust to cool before continuing.

2\. Add both packages of pudding mix to a large mixing bowl. Add 2 tsp cinnamon. Add milk according to package directions (usually 2 cups per package, so 4 cups).

3\. Beat pudding+milk mixture with a whisk or hand mixer until smooth, about 2 minutes.

4\. Pour pudding into pie crust. Pour any extra pudding into bowls.

5\. Place pie and extra bowls into refrigerator and allow pudding to set for five minutes.

6\. Apply whipped cream to top of pie.

7\. Serve.

8\. Know you're not alone.


End file.
